


Son of Mine

by Living_Free



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne Tries to Dad, Fluff, M/M, Overprotective Bruce, See what I did there, Superman is sneaky, batfamily, he really tries, he wants Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Free/pseuds/Living_Free
Summary: Bruce is a good papa, he really is. So what if he wants to lock his son away in an ivory tower?No matter, Clark will just fly up to rescue his fair Grayson.





	

The tense silence in the Batcave was broken by the swoosh of the door opening, and the grumbling of an irritated Batman. Superman floated in elegantly, carrying his cheesed-off friend in his arms, bridal style. He made to announce his presence, but the need was made redundant when they were swarmed by the hundreds (five) of Bruce's children.

"Mmph!" Bruce's cries were suffocated in Dick's chest, when his face was mashed against it.

"Bruce! We were so worried!" Dick shrieked. Tim had pulled Bruce's cowl off and was checking his scalp for bumps, while Damian was assiduously trying to put a colorful band-aid on Bruce's foot. Clark smiled at the care being lavished on his recalcitrant friend, glad that someone could get away with babying him. 

"We were planning your funeral," Jason said with mock worry, "just like you planned mine all those years ago." Despite his hurt foot, Bruce kicked his second son in the googlies, sending him away yelping. He shrunk away from the caresses of his children, but stilled when Cassandra placed a small kiss on his bruised cheek. At that, Bruce smiled slightly, always glad to be indulged by his princess. When Dick tried to kiss him, Bruce shied away, kicking petulantly, until his eldest was able to press a sweet kiss to the crown of his head. 

"Thanks for bringing him home, Clark, we were so scared," Dick said gratefully. "Do you mind carrying him up to his room? We'll walk you up." Clark blushed at the thanks in an aw-shucks manner, and gave Dick his best innocent-farmboy smile. Bruce fumed at his comrade, knowing what was really going on in his devious mind. 

"I'm onto you, SuperPerv," Batman hissed lowly, startling Clark. 

"What was that Bruce?" Tim asked concernedly. 

"Nothing, son," Bruce said, faking innocence. Mollified, Tim went ahead to unlock Bruce's door to let his father and Superman inside. Clark deposited Bruce onto his bed, and for the first time, looked around his friend's room. 

He had been expecting a kind of austere aesthetic that matched Bruce's personality, coupled with the slight opulence that would only come from being born with oodles of cash. What he found was quite frankly, surprising. There was a warm, lived-in feel to the room, with mismatched blankets and clothes strewn everywhere, some of which were far too small to be Bruce's. There was a large dog on the rug which was wagging its tail furiously at Clark, who petted it until it decided to transfer its affections to an indignant Bruce.

What was most startling, however, were the walls. Every wall was decorated with framed photos of Bruce and his children, starting from more than a decade prior. In every one of the pictures, Bruce was making some expression that no one else but his family was privy to, it seemed. Happiness, confusion, terror, pride, and in one, anger. To be fair, the Justice League saw a lot of the last one.

Clark drifted over to the oldest picture, which seemed to be a very small boy being carried by a dignified looking man. They were not looking at the camera, but at each other, smiling softly. "Bruce and Alfred," Dick said softly, coming to stand beside Clark. "Alfred is basically our grandad, you know. He raised Bruce, and then us. He's the best." Clark nodded reverently and looked at the next, more recent photo. 

It was a picture of a small boy in a sequined, tight fitting, bodysuit, who was waving a gold medal while Bruce was carrying him, grinning proudly. "That was when Dick won the national gymnastics competition," Tim supplied. "Bruce cried during the presentation ceremony." Sure enough, there were tear tracks down the man's face if you looked closely enough. In bed, Bruce huffed, muttering about how at least one child had made him proud. There were several more pictures of Bruce and Dick, usually with Bruce carrying him. 

"I don't think Dick even walked for the first year he was with Bruce," Jason said. "He never put him down long enough."

"I was being a good father," Bruce interrupted. "The parenting books said that physical contact was important!"

Clark smiled and moved on to the next picture. There was an adorably snarling boy with dark, wavy, hair, dressed like an angel, while Bruce beamed next to him. "Ooh, that was during Jason's Nativity choir! He had the lead role, singing to Baby Jesus. Did you know that he sings soprano?" Dick was immediately silenced when Jason slapped a hand over his brother's mouth. Clark merely looked surprised at the Red Hood's artistic side.

"And this must be Tim," Clark guessed, pointing to another picture. In it, Tim was holding up a trophy while wearing a little tux and...tap dance shoes? "Tim is a very good dancer," Cassandra said as she smoothed Bruce's hair down. "He moves...like water." 

"Bruce taught him how to tap," Jason said with a smile. Clark looked incredulously at his old friend who glared back. 

"Parents who share common interests with their children have deeper and more meaningful relationships!" Bruce defended himself as Tim preened. 

Next, there was a picture of a girl in uneven pigtails holding up a picture-perfect pie, while Bruce was anxiously trying to dust flour out of his hair and apron in the background. "Daddy taught me to bake," Cassandra said softly, startling Clark.

"I didn't know you could cook, Bruce, that's so sweet," Clark cooed. 

Dick chose this moment to jump into the conversation. "When I first came to live with him, Bruce used to make me blinis, so that I could feel closer to my mom," he said softly. "He's a great dad." 

Clark looked sympathetically at Dick, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "That must have been quite the change. You're very brave for adapting to the situation. It must have been terrible at first." Bruce fumed silently at Clark, wishing him the most gruesome of deaths.

Dick shrugged and dragged Clark over to the final picture, which was of Damian surrounded by a cow, a dog, and numerous bats. Somehow, they looked completely at ease with him. Bruce, on the other hand, was holding a cat at arm's length, his expression one of abject horror. "Damian's got a way with animals," Dick said proudly. "He's rescued all of those animals, and nursed them back to health. That's BatCow, BatMutt, BatCat, and the BatBats."

"What are their actual names?" Clark asked, stifling a laugh at the nicknames.

"Hilda, Tiberius, Alfred, and the bats are all called Steve," Damian informed him. 

Clark looked at the final picture, and burst out laughing. It was slightly blurred, having clearly been taken in a hurry. In it, Bruce looked to be on the verge of exploding, his face red with anger and his eyes bulging. He was looking at Dick, who was dancing with an older man with a smirk on his face and wearing an...eyepatch.

Oh Lord. 

"Why were you dancing with Slade Wilson?" Clark asked hesitantly, to which Jason burst out laughing and Dick smiled sheepishly. 

"Ooh, lemme tell this one!" Jason enthused. "See, Bruce was hosting this gala for some crap cause, and apparently, someone in his board of directors saw fit to invite the Founder of Wilson and Wintergreen Enterprises! Long story short, Slade swaggered in, saw Dickie, and just snatached him up."

"We just danced," Dick said, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, for like, five hours. Oh, and tell Bruce who your date for the Christmas gala is," Tim egged him on. 

"Son, please, no-"

"Bruce, Slade just wants to hang-"

"Then tell him to get a rope and make a noose! He doesn't get to try and kill you one night, then get cozy with you the next!"

"Bruce!" Dick exclaimed, scandalized. "Slade's never tried to actively kill me, only you. He's actually been trying to set me up with his son."

"AGH!"

Bruce looked around, panicking, while Jason guffawed gormlessly. Clark stepped in to defuse the situation, like the brave leader that he was. "Jason, please stop laughing. Tim, could you help you dad with his socks? Damian, could you get your father a sedative? Cassandra, maybe get a glass of water?"

Dick beamed appreciatively at Clark and patted his arm in thanks. "I'm going to get Bruce a hot pack. Thanks again, Clark, you're really something special," he said grinning, before bouncing off.

"Dick..." Bruce called after his departing son weakly, looking fearful.   
Clark went up to Bruce and tugged the blankets up to his chin, then leaned in close to whisper in his friends ear. "Don't you worry, Bruce," he said softly, "I'll take care of Dickie."

Bruce aimed a kick at the man of steel, but missed by a mile as he floated out after Dick.

\------------

"Dick, I love you, but if you bring Slade Wilson as your date to the Spring Charity Gala, I'll kill him, and then lock you in an ivory tower," Bruce thundered. 

Dick raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and snorted. "You can try. Anyway, I'm not bringing Slade. We've decided to do monthly pizza meetings."

"AGH!"

"I'm bringing Clark to the gala! Aren't you pleased?"

Bruce gaped like a fish, prompting Damian to crawl into his lap to close it for him. "I like the alien," Damian said. "Grayson, if you wed him, can I be your best man?"

"Of course, babybird!" 

"AAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"


End file.
